


Misunderstanding

by Evelyna



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Criminal Minds, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Between two Crossovers, Crossover, Gen, yeah i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evelyna/pseuds/Evelyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Addams is abducted by a serial killer who is hunted by the BAU... right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [readergirl1013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/readergirl1013/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Unexpected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/955708) by [readergirl1013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/readergirl1013/pseuds/readergirl1013). 
  * Inspired by [What's in a Name?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545673) by [readergirl1013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/readergirl1013/pseuds/readergirl1013). 



> This is a christmas present for readergirl1013 who is writing the terrific CM/SGA x-over "Unexpected". Go read it!  
> She also wrote a hilarious Addams Family/SGA x-over for Halloween.  
> Why am I telling you this?  
> Because this work is an x-over between her two x-overs. So, you probably won't get it unless you read them both. Set after chapter 12 of Unexpected.

They were creepy.

Spencer could not put his finger on what it was, but the two women made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

They were obviously related, mother and daughter, both black haired and pale, slender women with thin faces and similar features.

The older one – Morticia Addams – was wearing dramatic make-up that emphasized her eyes and gaunt cheeks. Her lips were just a shade darker than fresh blood. The form fitting mermaid dress dragged on the floor, and when she stood, the seam pooled around her feet reminiscent of an octopus. Her red nails were, Spencer suspected, the exact same shade as her lips.

Her daughter, Wednesday Addams, was dressed in what might have been called a school girl outfit if it wasn’t so somber. The sensible knee length skirt and flats showed off pale legs clad in silvery tights that were patterned like spider webs. Her black blouse, while short sleeved, was otherwise very conservative, as were her tightly woven braids and short, unpainted nails.

Spencer hoped that she was wearing make-up. Surely no one healthy had lips that pale.

But it wasn’t their appearance that made him uneasy. It was the stillness they brought with them.

Ten minutes ago, Mrs. Addams had entered the police station like a queen surveying her realm, her daughter a silent shadow behind her, and permitted Detective Shanahan to take them to the break room slash conference room.

Once there, they had taken their seats and then… nothing. They had not exchanged a word. They had not reached for the coffee they had been provided. They had not moved.

In fact, Spencer would wager that every single hair was in the same position it had been in the moment the women had stopped moving.

Creepy.

Entering the room, he felt their regard snap to him and settle on him like a cloak of lead. Even though the rest of the team as well as O’Neill and Mitchell followed him, he was quite sure that the women’s attention was focused solely on him.

“My name is Spencer Reid; I’m an agent with the FBI. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your nephew – your cousin –“ he added with a nod to Wednesday, “has been abducted by the serial killer we are pursuing.”

“Which nephew?”

“Your sister’s son John.”

Perfectly formed brows drew together the slightest bit.

“Which sister?”

“… Belladonna Sheppard. Nee Frump.”

“Oh. She married that awful Sheppard man. Good material but he would have been much improved by channeling all that vicious energy into more worthwhile things. You must mean Asmodeus then. Yes. What do you suppose is happening to him?”

She smiled at him.

“I’m afraid it’s very likely that the unsub is torturing him. Going by the previous victims…”

“I see.”

Her smile didn’t waver for a second.

“Mrs. Addams, I don’t think you understand-“

“Oh, I understand perfectly. And he didn’t even say anything! Who is he with, on this charming little retreat?”

“…I’m afraid we don’t know. He was abducted. “

“How romantic! I do so envy him.” 

“Please, don’t kill me!” The terrified exclamation made them all turn toward the door, the soldiers and agents – meaning, everyone but the Addams’ – moved to get up or went for their weapons.

The next phrase brought them up short, as everyone recognized the voice of the one who spoke.

“I’m not going to kill you; you’re here to meet my family!”

It was John Sheppard’s voice, accompanied by a dull thud and a crash, but it wasn’t John who entered the room.

Instead, it was a visibly confused black man with slightly shabby clothing. When he spoke, his voice was unfamiliar.

“Er, the blood-covered gentle- I mean, the more blood-covered, half-naked gentleman said his cousin was here and would pay the fare?”

“The… fare?” Spencer rather felt like he was in the wrong movie. 

“For the taxi ride”, the man clarified. “I don’t give free rides. Not even to serial killers wanting to go to the police station. Especially to serial killers, regardless of where they want to… you know what, can you just get that cousin to pay the fifty-six dollars?”

“We don’t know who the serial killer is, so we don’t know who the cousin is.” Spencer replied with three parts reason and one part what-the-fuck in his voice.

“Here,” Wednesday held her closed hand toward the taxi driver. When he held his own hand open, she dropped a coin into it.

“Hey, lady, how about paying with some real money?!” The man exclaimed.

“Let me look at this,” Spencer snatched the golden coin out of his hand. It was heavier than it looked and rather worn, making the minting difficult to discern. He could just barely make out F, L and N. In the middle there seemed to be what might be a fleur-de-lis. On the other side was a pristine minting of John the Baptist, making him rear back in shock.

“That’s a genuine Florin! Do you have any idea what this is worth?! Where did you get it?” Spencer demanded.

“Is it? Great-great-uncle Alphard insisted on putting those kitschy things on the attic stairs. They’re terribly slippery now,” Wednesday replied in a voice devoid of inflection. Despite that, the last sentence sounded vaguely satisfied.

Realizing that he was gaping at her, Spencer snapped his mouth shut and handed the coin back to the cabbie. “I’d take it as payment. Really.”

“So this is worth something, then? Do I have to melt it or what?”

Spencer had to swallow his outrage at that, “Well, if you do it’s worth about a hundred dollars. Don’t you dare! The Florins were last minted in 1533 and this one looks to be genuine. It’s a nearly priceless treasure!”

“Well what am I supposed to do with a priceless treasure? I need money to pay my bills, not priceless treasure!”

Rossi, who had clearly decided it was time to be the voice of reason (and to get rid of the taxi driver), pulled out his wallet and took out two hundred dollars. “Is this better? Now give the coin to the hyperventilating genius and get out.”

Finally rid of the taxi driver blocking the door, the assorted people in the room were treated to the sight of a terrified, lightly blood spattered man stumbling into the room.

Following after him and stopping in the doorway was John, who presented a rather gruesome appearance. He looked like a cross between an action hero and Frankenstein’s monster, before Frankenstein got around to washing it. Practically covered in blood, a frankly horrific number of scars twisted around his torso, and with a terrifyingly placid smile fixed on his face.

“How was your vacation, darling? I heard you made a new friend,” Mrs. Addams asked blithely.

“I think he was serious about torturing me.”

“How delightful!”

“I mean, I’m not quite sure. I don’t think he really has the stomach for the more artistic styles.”

All eyes snapped to the first man, who was visibly trying to settle his stomach.

“This-“ John held out his right hand, with the bloody wrist encased in a heavy manacle, “–isn’t really to my liking. Does someone have a file?”

“Of course, darling,” Mrs. Addams said and bent down to the ground, somehow conveying that she was bestowing a favor upon the unwashed masses, while also implying that those unwashed masses were the (quite clean) agents and soldiers present.

 Slender fingers lifted up the hem of her dress and pulled it up her leg, revealing black stiletto heels that could easily double as murder weapons, slim ankles, and a shin so pale that it seemed to glow. She drew her dress up further, above the knee and to the upper thigh, where it revealed a garter that held an assortment of tools like drills, screw drivers, a hammer, tongs, a wire cutter and, yes, even a file. 

“Thanks, Auntie,” John said and set the file on the metal cuff.

“Of course, darling,” Mrs. Addams repeated and smoothed her dress down again. Mysteriously, the lacy tool belt did not keep the fabric from draping perfectly over her lap. “It’s ever so unfashionable.”

“It really is,” John agreed, and started to file down the D-ring that was soldered to the outside of the cuff. “And rather inconvenient, too.”

In what seemed like seconds, the D-ring was gone, and John lightly brushed the file all over the outside of the cuff.

“Much better,” Mrs Addams commented, inspecting the now quite evenly scratched cuff that had a burnished look. “This has style.”

“Vintage torture equipment,” John agreed, “Is a wonderful courting present.”

“I don’t know, darling.” She turned to the still unnamed man who now held himself up with the help of the table. “How do you feel about trying an iron maiden?”

The man gulped audibly. Then once more, as he became aware that he was the object of Wednesday’s unblinking stare.

“No? Perhaps a rack?”

The man wiped some sweat off his brow, smearing the blood stains in the process, and turned to Spencer.

“If I confess, will you please lock me up in solitary?”


End file.
